MINNEAPOLIS -- The jazz band knocked off about 6:30 last night while the delegates were still trickling in to the welcome party at the Minneapolis Convention Center, and a lone pianist began tinkling out a soft, almost elegiac melody.

People who came here to whoop and holler -- and most ponied up their own money to do so -- mingled quietly, unwitting victims of a hurricane a thousand miles away.

They checked out the giant White House and mock cockpit for Air Force One. They nibbled roast beef and Chinese dumplings, made a modest pass at the bar, and talked about a convention unlike any other.

"It's a no-win situation, no matter what they do," said Wayne Seaman, who came here from Iowa to hear President Bush, a president who, in the wake of Hurricane Katrina three years ago, dare not be seen talking victory while New Orleans faces Hurricane Gustav.

"We have to roll with whatever's decided and be pleased with the outcome," said Mr. Seaman.

What's been decided is that today's convention session, which was to open with vigorous cheers and slashing rhetoric, will gather in the afternoon, walk quickly through a quorum check, approval of credentials and the presentation of the platform, and then batten down as Gustav hits the Gulf Coast.

"It's the right thing to do," said Rick Mroz, a delegate from New Jersey. "It's the right thing to take off our partisan hats, do the business we have to do, but we can curtail the festivities."

Theresa Mungioli, who paid her way to come here from Michigan to party, made plans for a delegation blood drive back at her hotel. "There's a part of me that's disappointed, knowing the parties are cut back," she said. "It's not fair of us to be partying up here and ignoring what they're going through."

Not everyone bothered with the party.

Robert Gleason, chairman of the Pennsylvania Republican Committee, had a quiet dinner with a fellow townsman, Mark Pasquerilla. They both come from Johnstown, a city familiar with disasters. Three times it was wiped away by floods.

Yesterday, Mr. Gleason said he appreciated the need to curtail things until Gustav was sorted out, but he also had thoughts political.

"We can't stop forever," he said. "We only have four days. We've got to leave here Thursday with a nominee for president and vice president. It might temper our celebrations, but let's wait and see what happens."

Delegates spoke so uniformly of the need to help and an eagerness to sacrifice the good times for the Gulf Coast, the comments sounded like talking points out of a playbook.

"It's interesting, because it almost feels that way," said Mike Delbene, a New Jersey delegate. "It's one of those things where you say it and the person you're saying it to says, 'You know, I was thinking the exact same thing.' "

Part of the reason they were thinking that way, he conceded, was Katrina, and the memory of a botched federal response when the levees in New Orleans broke three years ago.

"We would be ignorant if we didn't learn from our prior mistakes," he said.

Delegates weren't alone in having the good times rolled back.

Ann Berget, who was born in New Orleans and now lives in Minnesota, was hosting a display at the party by her employer, EcoLab, a St. Paul company that joined dozens of others in footing the bill for last night's party.

"Everyone's been looking forward to hosting this. It's just quiet," she said.

A cousin, who sits on one of the boards that oversees the levees, was in touch.

"I got an e-mail from him this morning and he said, 'This is the first time I have feared I may lose everything,' " she said.

To Rick Baas, a Wisconsin delegate, the curtailed agenda seems like a good idea "just so long as they don't do it Tuesday and the rest of the week."

"He needs everybody in this hall and these folks paid a pretty penny to be here."